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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Poems of Nature (search)
still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in connection with Epigoea repens dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its English flower association. sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails! What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wild-wood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May? Yet, ‘God be praised!’ the Pilgrim said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, ‘Behold our Mayflower here’ “God wills it: here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o'er; For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more.” O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, Unchanged, your leaves unfold, Like love behind the manly stren
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Poems Subjective and Reminiscent (search)
my debt; Memory, with her eyelids wet, Fain would thank thee even yet! And as one who scatters flowers Where the Queen of May's sweet hours Sits, o'ertwined with blossomed bowers, In superfluous zeal bestowing Gifts where gifts are overflowing, Sofar away I welcome at my door. The airs of spring may never play Among the ripening corn, Nor freshness of the flowers of May Blow through the autumn morn; Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look Through fringed lids to heaven, And the pale aster inin flowers, the woods Grow misty green with leafing buds, And violets and wind-flowers sway Against the throbbing heart of May. Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own The wiser love severely kind; Since, richer for its chastening grown, I see, whAnd, after the painful service On that pleasant Sabbath day, He walked with his little daughter Through the apple-bloom of May. Sweet in the fresh green meadows Sparrow and blackbird sung; Above him their tinted petals The blossoming orchards hung